"Mikhail Evstafiev. Two Steps From Heaven " - читать интересную книгу автораleft arm.
.... must be Zhenka's replacement at last .... Sharagin unlocked the Chinese padlock which hung on two bent nails after they had lost the only key to the dead lock on the door and stepped into the tiny entry hall. He leaned his rifle against the wall, dropped his rucksack on the floor, gave a tired yank at his bootlaces, too lazy to undo them completely, and got his boots off by pushing the heel of one with the toe of the other foot. He flung back the curtain separating the entrance, and stepped into the main room. The platoon leaders and sergeant lived here, surrounded by family photographs and cuttings out of the "Ogonyok" magazine pinned to the walls. Standard iron bunks lined the walls, and a doorless clothes cupboard leaned crookedly. A heating pipe ran under the window with a thin, flat radiator which leaked frequently and was therefore rusted through. Wooden pegs were stuck into the radiator here and there, where the leaks were strongest. They all froze in winter, wrapped themselves in their greatcoats. Home-made heaters made no difference. A lone, naked light bulb hung from the ceiling. Greatcoats hung on nails hammered into the walls. A twin-cassette player stood on the table, surrounded by old newspapers and an ashtray made out of half of a can of imported "Si-Si" soda. ... towel, soap, clean underwear...that's all ... The burner by the bath-house was silent, cooling down. ... too damn late... Usually the gas burner hissed, throwing out a tongue of flame, heating up the steam room. Sharagin threw off his stiff uniform and underwear, which stank of sweat and diesel and which he had not changed for some time, and his socks which had a big hole on one toe and also smelled terrible and stuck to his road-weary feet. He did not throw away the socks, but washed them with the rest of his clothing. The trickle of water from the shower was lukewarm, but he gloried in it nonetheless. He stood under it for at least five minutes as if trying to soak himself through and through, rubbing his body briskly with a sponge to get rid of the accumulated dirt, simultaneously shedding the fatigue and nervousness brought on by combat, washed his cropped hair. ... maybe I should shave my head bald once more? No, once was enough ... He scraped his cheeks under the now cold shower, swore at the cheap blade which lost its edge straight after contact with the stubble of many days. ... the unit had not noticed the loss of a soldier ... they had not even had time to deal with the enemy properly ... this particular lot of |
|
|